


The Heart of the Pack

by ArientheSun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Badass Stiles!, Chicago, Derek is adorable, Heist, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Past AU, Racism, Robbery, Some Fluff, a couple of characters are kind of dicks, gangster au, i guess?, married thieves AU, world's fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArientheSun/pseuds/ArientheSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>A single massive ruby, red as blood, red as the juice of the pomegranate that so ensnared Persephone, sat encased by glass on a pedestal in the centre of the small room. Its facetted, asymmetrical face threw spots of pink brilliance along the walls and floor. Stiles could have sworn he saw it pulse slightly, like a broken heart that had been resurrected as crystal. A sign above aptly named it </em>the Queen’s Broken Heart. </p><p> <em>Derek met Stiles' eyes, and not a single word nor smile passed between them. But Stiles could see the amusement in his dark eyes, and the reproach. </em>You’re insane to believe we can pull this off.<br/> <br/><em>Stiles just blinked slowly as Derek stepped away. </em></p><p>You’re insane if you think we can’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of the Pack

**Author's Note:**

> i am not sure how this happened. 
> 
> i just really love the idea of Stiles and Derek traveling the world and nicking rich peoples' stuff. 
> 
> feedback and criticism is very much welcome.
> 
> xx
> 
> (also this has some instances of racism and some general dickishness towards some cultures. dw they get theirs.)

**_Chicago, 1933._ **

 

The crowd swelled around Stiles as he stood straightening his tie, blinking up at the building before him as the high sun peaked over its arched roof. It was a curious building of black and grey, its outer walls pointed, giving it a shape akin to a squashed star. A large electric sign proclaimed it the _Travel and Transport Exhibition._ Hundreds were swarming in and out, mingling with the massive, chattering swarm of pedestrians that ambled down the wide boulevard. A brisk Chicago wind blew in from the bay, smelling of salt and silt, and Stiles pulled his hat down lower on his head as he melted into the crowd. 

He was unnoticeable within the sea of people; nobody spared him a second glance. He was nothing more than an anonymous face in a sea of grey and blue. Unremarkable and ordinary. Stiles grinned at the thought. 

Above, banners fluttered in the wind, red and blue and white, each proudly welcoming visitors to THE CHICAGO EXPO: A CENTURY OF PROGRESS. Each step down the wide street unveiled new attractions that sparked Stiles' curiosity. People were swarming around the Aquarium; children were shrieking with excitement as the line for admission stretched out the doors. Under a massive lookout tower of steel and iron, men were piling into the _Chrysler Building_ , excited to see the latest automotive achievements. Positively hundreds were in line for the _Sky Ride_ , eager to be zipped across the expo through the air. The attraction made Stiles think of Derek, and how he would rather eat his own boot than hang suspended in the sky. _If I were meant to fly,_ Derek had once stated, _then I’d have wings_. The memory made Stiles snort. The Horse Show, a Soldier Field, scientific displays, exotic temples, a planetarium, an Egyptian display, Stiles drank in the sights, yet he never let his gaze linger long. No matter how curious he became (Homes of the Future, now that could be an eye opener), he never stopped for a closer look. 

He had other business to attend to. 

Finally, Stiles reached the only exhibition he would be visiting that day. The building’s facade was pure white, unmarked and unmarred, with four graceful columns supporting a domed ceiling. It looked exactly like what it was: a poorer, smaller, Western replica of an ancient temple to forgotten gods. Through double doors, oaken and inlayed with vines and jungle scenes, people were trickling in and out, the men pushing on their hats and the women pulling on gloves once faced with the Chicago wind. A massive sign, black on white, named this as _The World’s Museum._

Stiles stepped idly up to a ticket booth and flashed an easy grin, “one, please.”

As he entered, Stiles finally felt the excitement as it began to burn at the tips of his fingers. 

This was going to be fun. 

________

He took his time walking through the museum, sidling up to displays from exotic foreign countries. Statues and vases and tools and clothes. He didn’t walk too fast, nor too slow, nor did he check his watch all that often to ensure his punctuality. He blended in, he was professional. That is, until he rounded a corner, following in the wake of a mother and her giggling daughter, and caught sight of their target. He couldn't help it; he allowed himself a grin. 

A single massive ruby, red as blood, red as the juice of the pomegranate that so ensnared Persephone, sat encased by glass on a pedestal in the centre of the small room. Its facetted, asymmetrical face threw spots of pink brilliance along the walls and floor. The middle of the gem was so dark it was nearly black. Stiles could have sworn he saw it pulse slightly, like a broken heart that had been resurrected as crystal. A sign above aptly named it _the Queen’s Broken Heart._

The little girl trotted forward and made to touch the enclosing case, but a guard stepped briskly forward from a corner and stopped her with a hand. She pouted, but moved away. Stiles’ eyes glanced over the guard, at the way his uniform sat a little too snugly, at the redness at his collar where his shirt had been chafing his neck. He should have chosen a larger guard. Derek met his eyes, and not a single word nor smile passed between them. But Stiles could see the amusement in his eyes, and the reproach. _You’re insane to believe we can pull this off._

Stiles just blinked slowly as Derek stepped back into his place in the corner. 

_You’re insane if you think we can’t._

Just a few minutes before 1pm, two men walked into the room behind Stiles, both immaculately dressed in a grey and blue suit respectively. The shorter, fleshier man in grey walked with his hands clasped behind his back, a self-satisfied grin on his flabby face. The gold chain of a pocket watch glinted from his vest. The taller man walked slightly stooped, his small eyes piercing above a hooked nose. As Stiles knew they would, the men came to regard the great gem beside him. It hardly took a minute before the fleshy man struck up a conversation. 

“She’s a real looker, don’t you think?” 

Stiles looked over to him and smiled, heart beginning to thump loudly, “She is indeed.”

The man nodded, a righteous little grin on his face, “she’s one of mine, she is. Cost me a pretty penny, but worth every cent.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows dramatically. The man had sweat under his thick neck, but he tried to ignore that, “no kidding! Good for you, pally.”

He barely seemed to hear, so intent was he on gazing at his jewel, “yep. Such a pretty dame deserves to be on display for the whole world to see, don’t she?”

The stooped man stepped next to his friend as Stiles nodded, “absolutely.” He held out his hand, “Scott Argent.”

The fleshy man dragged his gaze away from the ruby and smiled, “Henry Keiser.” His hand was moist and as soft as tissue. Henry nodded his head to the tall man, “this here is Robert Cunningham. He helped find ol’ Queen’s Heart for me. When I heard her tale, I couldn’t live with myself until I found her.”

Robert spoke for the first time in an eloquent voice, tinged with accents of Europe, “well met, mister Argent. And, my friend, here she sits.”

Henry let lose a booming laugh, “here she sits indeed! Who needs a broad when I have one of her, eh?”

Stiles laughed along with the pair, and almost felt bad for what they were going to do. Henry was a swell guy. Stiles lowered his voice dramatically, “hey, buddy. I got a pal who’s a copper ‘round here.” He glanced between the two men, “what about all them robberies that been happening, eh? All over the papers. Not worried, are ya? About ya pretty dame? They ain’t gonna come here, are they?”

Henry’s demeanour darkened as he curled his wet lips, “those thieves. Mask-wearing cowards, that’s all they are! They think that just because they make a few scores ‘round the apple, they can get to the Queen. That they can threaten me.” He huffed with indignation, as Stiles nodded solemnly beside him. Henry indicated to the guard standing sentinel beside the great gem, “I got my goon, plus more in the museum, and all those coppers outside. Don’t worry Scotty boy, those gangsters aren’t getting anywhere near her.”

Stiles barely avoided catching Derek’s eye and snorting, “that’s a relief, mister. It really is. I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”

“Odd crimes though, I heard that they were,” interjected Robert Cunningham, his mournful voice echoing in the high ceilinged room. “Masked bandits, leaving boastful notes at crimes and smashing their way through walls.”

“Papers call ‘em the Masked Bandits.” Henry snorted, “We should be giving them the hotsquat, not giving them pet names.”

Cunningham continued, “They used hammers, I believe. Terribly primitive, if you ask me.”

“Maybe they should have their own display besides those savages from Goo-Goo Land.” Henry let lose another booming laugh, Robert chucking appreciably, while Stiles had to force his smile to meet his eyes. He took it back; he no longer felt bad for stealing from him.

Suddenly, drums and gongs began to pound through the museum, the sound echoing down the long corridors. Henry looked delighted, “that will be the Mayan Presentation. Fake volcanoes and gold and that savage music. I love it! Never miss a show!”

Stiles nodded along with a politely interested, “ahhh,” noise. He turned so he was facing The Queen’s Broken Heart, while his two new friends had it to their backs. “That show’s quite popular, the way I hear it. And _allll_ the way on the other side of the museum.”

“Is indeed. Another little venture of mine. Put the savages on show, I say.”

Stiles smiled, nodded, and barely blinked and Derek came up behind them and knocked them out with two swift, brutal movements. As the fat man and the tall one slumped to the floor at his feet, Stiles’ met Derek’s eyes and grinned. “Is it bad to say I get a little turned on when you do that?”

Derek sighed loudly through his nose, “Is that anything new?”

Stiles leaned over and kissed him hard, “you know me too well, dear.”

The tips of Derek’s ears burned as red as the Queen’s Heart. Stiles found it utterly adorable. A year of mischief, and still he blushes. Derek’s voice was gruff, “Do what you do.” 

He picked up the unconscious men without effort, and carried them from the room. Stiles watched him go, his smile fading. The beginnings of doubt had started gnawing at his bones. 

________

These men were _heavy._

Even with Derek’s strength (which was a little impressive, he had to admit), carrying them at a jog down just one corridor made sweat break out on his forehead and his arms ache. Specially, the arm carrying Mr Hesier. And the constant thumping of those drums was not helping matters.

Stiles assured him that the exhibit he needed would be empty, that if he followed his directions, he wouldn’t run into anything or anyone unexpected. Still. Things go wrong. People don’t always act like you expect them to. 

That’s why Derek peaked his head into the dinosaur exhibit, made sure it was completely empty, before he jogged around the corner with two unconscious and very important men thrown over his shoulders. 

Derek would trust Stiles with his life, and has, more than once. With an unflinching vulnerability, Derek _trusts_ Stiles.

Still. Even the best plans sometimes go awry. The “incident” in Prague was testimony to that. 

Derek crossed the exhibit and dumped the two men unceremoniously into a janitor’s cupboard as they began to stir. 

Mr Hesier had the opportunity to blink blearily up at him, groan and mutter something, before Derek kicked him in the ribs. It was a soft kick, but it still made the fat man yelp in surprise. Mr Cunningham, thankfully, was more responsive. After just a few moments, he sat staring at Derek with wide, conscious eyes from under a shelf of cleaning supplies. 

“You’re going to crawl through that vent,” Derek nodded his head towards an opening at near his feet. 

Mr Cunningham’s eyes went even wider, “we most certainly are not!”

Derek let his eyes bleed red, let his fingers hook into claws. Both men shrank away, breathing fast and rapid. 

Mr Cunningham nodded, “we are going to climb through that vent. What else?”

________

The sound of drums and cymbals still heavy in the air, Stiles turned the opposite way to Derek and ran down a long corridor. With the Mayan Show beginning, the museum should be clear of civilians. Guards and security detail, however, were going to be more difficult. The only way to get them all in one place, and away from the place Stiles needed to be, was a distraction. A huge, important, headline-worthy distraction. 

Stiles sprinted around a corner and nearly barrelled straight past the door marked STAFF ONLY. The lock was absurdly easy to pick. He ran down the a series of short steps, thundered along a corridor and threw open the door at the end. Three confused men leapt to their feet at his unexpected arrival, but before they could do anything more, his tranquiliser gun went off in quick succession, _pock pock pock._ The men swayed before falling heavily to the concrete floor, chairs clattering over as their bodies gave way. The room was dingy and small; a single table, some chairs; laying cards on the rickety table and the haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. And, of course, the safe. 

It had been plunked down at the end of the room, heavy and obtuse and as green as summer grass. A small black dial jutted from the centre, along with a handle. Stiles smiled, “hello baby-doll.”

Despite his nerves, despite his fear for himself, for Derek, Stiles felt his limbs relaxing, the tightness in his chest unclenching like a fist. He sat down cross-legged in front of the rotary combination lock, pressed his ear to the cool metal and calmly, slowly, in a measured pace, began turning the wheel, listening for the faint clicks that sounded his success, or his failure. 

________

In front of Derek was a stage, covered in a large fake volcano and various aspiring actors and actresses, all pretending to be a race of people that they weren’t, from a culture that they would never understand. They beat their drums and cymbals and sung in a strange foreign tongue that thrilled the large crowd gathered before them. Derek doubted anyone but Stiles had ever noticed how the musicians’ sticks never touched the skin of their drums, how the voices that echoed throughout the hall were deeply accented, and not with the Chicago drawl. 

Derek slipped away, unnoticed, and walked easily through a side door and into the cramped, hot space behind the stage. 

A lone man was sitting before a table, the space before him covered in wires and various electronic devices, all flashing red and green lights. 

“Hey,” Derek said casually, edging up behind the man. 

The man glanced at the uniform, nodded politely, and then slumped heavily to the floor, unconscious, as Derek punched him hard in the head. 

Derek winced. “Sorry, pal.”

The wires were like thin black snakes, curving and curling their way towards two massive, metal boxes on either side of the table. Derek stopped to appreciate how far technology had come, that they were now able to project such a massive amount of sound from just two steel boxes. Chicago really had progressed. He then grabbed a random handful of wires and yanked them hard out of the each loudspeaker. 

The music crackled and died. Voices wavered and fell silent as drums were cut off abruptly. Derek immediately heard the crowd begin to mutter, confused and angry. Muttering turned to speaking, and then to shouts. The sound of a different commotion began competing with the angry crowd. Police was racing past the hall, shouting questions and commands at each other, confused and excited and panicked at the news they had received. It was only a few moments before a loud, authoritative voice shouted, “SHOW’S OVER FOLKS. YOU NEED TO LEAVE THIS MUSEUM. I REPEAT: ALL CIVILIANS EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY.”

_You’ve got your distraction Stiles. I hope you’re using it well._

________

_Cr-lunk._  
_Cr-lunk._  
_Cr-LUNK._

Stiles sat back on his heels and suppressed his desire to scream. One number. _One. Number._

All that was left was _one fucking number_ and no matter what Stiles did, he couldn’t get it. What if he had already passed it on the rotary? Maybe he missed that sweet, perfect little click? He didn’t have time to go through the wheel a second time. If he had missed it, he and Derek were screwed. 

Stiles breathed, slowly, willing the knot around his heart to loosen. 

He heard Derek’s voice. 

_Keep going, Stiles._

_Keep going._

So he did. Ignoring the fear thrumming through his veins and burning in his lungs.

Stiles kept going. 

________

Derek slipped out the backstage door just as the crowd of onlookers began to get truly panicked. Officers and guards were running from the hall to the back of the museum, barking orders at each other as audience members shouted questions and began to follow. 

Derek, pulled along in the crowd of strangers, followed as well. 

The commotion was coming from a back exhibit. It was a modest room, the white walls bare except for two long-winded explanations of the history of the main attraction. A glittering cherry-red ruby larger than his fists was sitting proud in the centre of the room. While behind it, coppers were smashing through a wall with a small battering ram.

More officers were attempting to corral the growing crowd that had gathered to watch, while audience members shouted to those that had just arrived something about the masked bandits. 

________

_Click._

So soft, yet Stiles nearly jumped. 

Breathing hard, his hands trembling, Stiles reached for the handle of the safe and turned. 

_Click._

Letting out a long breath, Stiles opened the heavy metal door on silent hinges, and grinned at what was before him.

________

A man stepped forward from the gaggle of police officers that were currently crammed into the small exhibition room. His large, drooping yellow moustache covered much of his lower face. He had a hat pulled low over his small eyes, while his thumbs rested in the pockets of a pinstriped suit that strained against his gut. “THAT’S RIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” He bellowed importantly, peering at the crowd from under his brim, “MY FINE MEN CAUGHT THE CROOKS THAT HAD BEEN SCURRYING THROUGH THESE WALLS LIKE RATS! HOPING TO STEAL MISTER HEISER’S MOST VAULED POSSESSION.”

As the crowd gasped, the important man glanced over his shoulder, where a sizeable hole now adorned the back wall. Derek shuffled backwards into the crowd, as everyone jostled each other for a better view. “Unfortunately for these poor shmucks, ”the policemen continued, “they chose the WRONG Police Commander to trifle with!” The commander’s moustache bristled with the force of his own indignation, round cheeks as red as the ruby beside him. 

With a shout, his officers dragged two men through the hole in the plaster wall. The crowd surged forwards, chattering and shouting, but police held them back. The blinding flash of a camera illuminated the scene more than once. Both of the captured men wore large cloth masks over their faces, painted in the likeness of grey wolves. They sat mumbling incoherently on the floor as the policemen dragged them to their feet, slapping cuffs on their wrists, yanking their shoulders roughly as they did so. 

The police Commander strode importantly over to the bandits as his officers held them limp and mumbling, his every step a swagger before his audience. “I give you,” he called to the expectant faces before him, “THE MASKED BANDITS.”

With a flourish, he yanked off their masks.

And with that, Derek took his leave. Shouldering his way back through the crowd, he listened to their gasps and barking laughter and the shouts of the policemen and the thundering of the commander. He listened as the officers pushed roughly through the crowd behind him and raced away in the opposite direction. He listened to them bang through the staff door as he idly exited the museum, stepping lazily into a bright Chicago afternoon. Derek listened to the thunderous yelling of the commander as he found the safe. The unguarded, open, and empty, safe. 

Well, not completely empty.

_GIVE IT TO ME. LET ME READ IT IMMEDIATELY. I AM YOUR COMMANDER, BOY!_

A beat of silence, then...

_THEY STEAL FROM THEIR SUPERIORS, AND THEN HAVE THE AUDACITY TO LEAVE A NOTE SAYING “THANK YOU"?? I WILL FLAY THESE KIDS ALIVE._

He had to grin. 

________

Derek immediately spotted Stiles as he sped the little motorboat over towards where he stood on the dock, a salt breeze ruffling his hair. As he pulled up, Stiles grinned lazily at him, the still water flashing in the sun and making yellow light play over his face. “Why hello there, stranger. Fancy a ride?”

Derek smiled wryly as he clambered aboard, “only if you take me far away from here as possible.”

Stiles laughed as he pulled out in the wide water of the lagoon, “did he find the note?”

An edging smile crept onto Derek’s lips, making them curl at the corners, “yep. It just said thank you? That’s all you could think of?”

“It actually said, _thanks a bunch_. And hey, I was under a significant amount of stress back there!” Stiles stated indignantly as Derek came to stand by him at the gunwale. “Best I could come up with after I nearly peed myself with relief when the fucking safe finally opened.”

Derek pushed down his grin and heaved a sigh, turning to lean up against the stern. He crossed his arms and looked at Stiles seriously, “I’m disappointed. I expected better wit from you.”

Stiles grinned slowly as he met Derek’s look. His eyes were gold and amber in the sunlight. “Have a look in the bag under the seat, Der. Then tell me if you’re disappointed.”

A smile finally cracked Derek’s face as he pulled out the black canvas bag, in which was a package tightly wrapped in layers of cloth. The material fell away under Derek’s fingers, forgotten, left to tumble over the side of the motorboat as it sped out to sea, caught in the wind like birds’ wings. 

Red as lust, as clotted blood, as fire and envy and all the best sin. Larger than his two fists and as heavy as a newborn. _The Queen’s Broken Heart_ glittered on his lap, its irregular surface throwing pink sunspots to drift and shudder over his hands, kissing his skin, like pale stars. One look, a glance, and he could tell it was the real one. A lifetime of training was not required to know that. Derek knew his mouth was ajar but he didn't care, because his heart was just _soaring_ at the sight of this magnificent piece of earth that was now clutched between his hands. “Those smaller jobs were a good call,” he finally muttered, “how’d you know they'd prompt Heiser not to display the real one?”

Stiles shrugged modestly, “think about it. You bring your most valuable possession to a foreign city. Jewels start going missing from stores all around town. Then you get threats about your forty-million dollar rock going missing, too. But it's too late to bring it home, crowds need to see it. It’s a main attraction. But you gotta do something to keep it safe, right? Ergo, a replica.”

Derek breathed out long and low from the back of his throat, “you are fucking brilliant, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged again, but Derek knew he was grinning. “You wanna hear its story?” Stiles asked as he brought them out from the lagoon and into open water. Derek nodded, and Stiles continued. “They say that there once was a beautiful princess of Egypt, youngest and most beloved of the Pharaoh. When she was still young, she was promised to a prince of a neighbouring country. But he was cruel, and had no love for her. To complicate matters further, she was already deeply in love with someone else. A common boy of low birth, but with a beautiful singing voice and gentle hands. They met up in secret below her palace, at night, with only the moon to watch them. But when her husband-to-be found out about the affair, he had the boy murdered as the princess watched in horror. He then married her as his corpse cooled nearby.”

Stiles looked over once again to find Derek’s eye. “She mourned her whole life, weeping for her lost love, before succumbing to her grief.” A strange smirk lit his face, “but not before murdering her lovely husband and King. When they cut open the body of the princess, to prepare it for the burial of her people, they found not a heart, but that gem. Over the years, in her grief and sadness, her heart became stone, and so she died.”

Derek replaced the gem in the black bag and slung it over his shoulder. Slipping an arm around Stiles, he whispered over the roar of the boat, “we should give it a new name. A new name for a new future.”

Stiles glanced at him, his smile slowly growing. He leaned towards Derek so his words wouldn’t be snatched away by the wind. “Any ideas?”

Derek thought for a moment, brow furrowed, “what about… _the Heart of the Pack._ ”

The grin on Stiles’ lips widened, his laughter sailing into the breeze, “I love it.” 

Derek brushed his lips over Stiles’ neck, gripping him tighter against him, while with his other hand he brought out the ruby to cast its glimmering pink stars over Stiles’ arms and face. Derek rested his forehead against the back of Stiles' neck, and thought only of how his love for this man was going to destroy him, and he was going to let it, laughing all the way.

**Author's Note:**

> hotsquat = 1930's slang for electric chair.
> 
> Henry Keiser was an actual dude, but I took some artistic liberties with his character.


End file.
